I'll Drink to That!
by Daydreamer14j
Summary: When a Khajiit thief and an Altmer mage meet, chaos ensues. From the execution block to the bottom of a tankard, the two mismatched adventures change the fate of Skyrim forever. P.S. The image is created by a friend of mine, @thedeadbee, who has given me permission to use it in connection to this work.


The sun shown down over the Pale Pass, gleaming brightly on the freshly fallen snow that blanketing the path. Only the steep ridges on either side of the road guided the lone, female Khajiit traveler as the path itself lay treacherously hidden beneath the snow drifts. A large wooden gate came into view, the only marker that indicated where Cyrodiil ended and where Skyrim began. Surprisingly, the gate was open and unmanned. The Khajiit pulled a map from a satchel that was slung over her slender shoulder and rested upon her hip. Unfurling the map, the Khajiit began to puzzle over the vague schematics that only indicated the hold capitols and boundaries. Very little detail was given to the roads and terrain beyond a few snaky lines and roughly drawn shapes of the basic landscape.

"How does anybody find their way here?" the Cat wondered. "Do they know from birth how to navigate the Nine Holds of Lovely Skyrim or do the bunnies and foxes lead the way?" Glancing up from the map, she mused, "I bet it's the foxes! I don't even see road signs… Wait, I can't really see the roads either! Where was it I was heading anyways? Rifeland? Riffletiff?"

Pulling out a sealed envelope, the Khajiit read the address: _Mercer Frey of Riften_. The seal on the letter bore a diamond shape with a circle in the middle while the parchment stained and wrinkled from the journey yet still smelling of the waterfront. With a shrug, the traveler replaced the letter in her pouch and returned to the map.

"Looks like if I head towards Helgen and go east, road or not, I should be in Riften within the week. Now to get to Helgen and a tavern for something to drink; foxes, lead the way!" the Khajiit exclaimed excitedly.

* * *

Change POV

With one last swig, the male Altmer tossed his third bottle of Cyrodillic brandy over his shoulder casually as he headed to Helgen with the grand schemes only a drunken High Elf would have: to streak publicly. Although his vision was blurring, the Altmer deftly unbuttoned his trousers and began discarding his vestments. As the cold wind swept over the Elf's nearly naked body, he cast a resist cold spell perfectly, despite his addled mind.

Placing all his belongs in the hallowed out end of a fallen tree, the Altmer straightened up, swayed slightly, then took off running in the direction of Helgen. The wind whipped his hair in his face while the Altmer's hands waved frantically above his head in a celebratory gesture. He began to sing at the top of his lungs; a song he was making up on the spot.

_I'm a Mer,_

_You know what that means!_

_I'll make you purr,_

_Because I am your steed!_

_I'll rob you blind,_

_Because I got eyes!_

_Look at my #$%,_

_It's always the prize!_

_If you give me cheese,_

_I'll go away!_

_If you give me wine,_

_You know I will stay!_

_Yes, I am a Mer,_

_I make things up!_

_I'll sing what I want,_

_'Cause I'm a flup!_

Most of his words were hard to understand with his drunken slur, yet he continued his nonsensical ditty. Every word that preceded the elf made less sense then the last. He only paused to catch his breath before spouting out more lines and flailing about in a now weaving manner.

On the third sprint, the Altmer nearly crashed into a female Khajiit, only swerving seconds before collision. The momentum caused the Mer to tumbled head first into the snow at the feet of the surprised Khajiit. Swiftly, the Altmer sprang to his feet, but Instead of apologizing, the elf merely bowed clumsily before turning tail and scampering away.

* * *

Change POV

After decided the way to go, the Khajiit had set off in a northern direction. She continuously glanced about her, taking in the scenery as she traipsed along the decided path. Up and down, left and right, the way to Helgen was anything but straight and soon it would be anything but boring.

Just then, someone hurdled by, almost slamming into the traveler before tripping and landing face-first into the ground. Golden skin, completely exposed to the elements, garnished the cat's full attention. As the figure, clearly an Altmer male, picked himself up with unusual grace considering the heavy sent of brandy that hung about him, his face had wide grin stretched across it. The Khajiit noted his roguishly angular features along with his neatly trimmed moustache and goatee with snow already melting away. Only a clouded right eye and deep jagged scar that trailed over his ruined eye down his cheek blemish his attractive face.

As the Khajiit's eyes wandered down to the rest of his body, she was not only impressed with what she saw, but an insatiable curiosity filled her as to how an Altmer like the one in front of her was able to withstand the blustery climate of Skyrim without clothes. Before she could begin to vocalize her immediate thoughts, the High Elf made a hasty bow before turning and dashing off back in the same direction the Khajiit had been heading.

"I wonder if he's using an enchantment to keep warm." The Khajiit pondered. "Either way, he's better than a fox to find Helgen. Plus, I should tell him that he has a nice body. No point letting my keen observation skills go to waste!" With that last comment to herself, the traveler chuckled and sped off after the streaking High Elf.

* * *

Time Lapse

It did not take long before the Khajiit traveler caught up to the drunken Altmer; his random words of exclamation leading directly to him.

"Cheese! Fish! PAPRIKA!" He paused for a moment as if he was merely reciting a list of ingredients. Then, with a loud belch, he spun around, smiled crookedly, and passed out face first into the snow.


End file.
